Lavengro by George Borrow (read me a book txt) 📕

you; he caught him with some difficulty, and brought him home. What are you about?” said the old man, as I strove to get off the bed. “I want to see the horse,” said I. “I entreat you to be still,” said the old man; “the horse is safe, I assure you.” “I am thinking about his knees,” said I. “Instead of thinking about your horse’s knees,” said the old man, “be thankful that you have not broke your own neck.” “You do not talk wisely,” said I; “when a man’s neck is broke, he is provided for; but when his horse’s knees are broke, he is a lost jockey, that is, if he has nothing but his horse to depend upon. A pretty figure I should cut at Horncastle, mounted on a horse blood-raw at the knees.” “Oh, you are going to Horncastle,” said the old man seriously, “then I can sympathise with you in your anxiety about your horse, being a Lincolnshire man, and the son of one who bred horses. I will myself go down into the stable, and examine into the condition of your horse, so pray remain quiet till I return; it would certainly be a terrible thing to appear at Horncastle on a broken-kneed horse.”

He left the room and returned in about ten minutes, followed by another person. “Your horse is safe,” said he, “and his knees are unblemished; not a hair ruffled. He is a fine animal, and will do credit to Horncastle; but here is the surgeon come to examine into your own condition.” The surgeon was a man about thirty-five, thin, and rather tall; his face was long and pale, and his hair, which was light, was carefully combed back as much as possible from his forehead. He was dressed very neatly, and spoke in a very precise tone. “Allow me to feel your pulse, friend?” said he, taking me by the right wrist. I uttered a cry, for at the motion which he caused a thrill of agony darted through my arm. “I hope your arm is not broke, my friend,” said the surgeon, “allow me to see; first of all, we must divest you of this cumbrous frock.”

The frock was removed with some difficulty, and then the upper vestments of my frame, with more difficulty still. The surgeon felt my arm, moving it up and down, causing me unspeakable pain. “There is no fracture,” said he at last, “but a contusion⁠—a violent contusion. I am told you were going to Horncastle; I am afraid you will be hardly able to ride your horse thither in time to dispose of him; however, we shall see; your arm must be bandaged, friend, after which I shall bleed you, and administer a composing draught.”

To be short, the surgeon did as he proposed, and when he had administered the composing draught, he said: “Be of good cheer; I should not be surprised if you are yet in time for Horncastle.” He then departed with the master of the house, and the woman, leaving me to my repose. I soon began to feel drowsy, and was just composing myself to slumber, lying on my back, as the surgeon had advised me, when I heard steps ascending the stairs, and in a moment more the surgeon entered again, followed by the master of the house. “I hope we don’t disturb you,” said the former; “my reason for returning is to relieve your mind from any anxiety with respect to your horse. I am by no means sure that you will be able, owing to your accident, to reach Horncastle in time: to quiet you, however, I will buy your horse for any reasonable sum. I have been down to the stable, and approve of his figure. What do you ask for him?” “This is a strange time of night,” said I, “to come to me about purchasing my horse, and I am hardly in a fitting situation to be applied to about such a matter. What do you want him for?” “For my own use,” said the surgeon; “I am a professional man, and am obliged to be continually driving about; I cover at least one hundred and fifty miles every week.” “He will never answer your purpose,” said I; “he is not a driving horse, and was never between shafts in his life; he is for riding, more especially for trotting, at which he has few equals.” “It matters not to me whether he is for riding or driving,” said the surgeon, “sometimes I ride, sometimes drive; so, if we can come to terms, I will buy him, though, remember, it is chiefly to remove any anxiety from your mind about him.” “This is no time for bargaining,” said I; “if you wish to have the horse for a hundred guineas, you may; if not⁠—” “A hundred guineas!” said the surgeon; “my good friend, you must surely be lightheaded⁠—allow me to feel your pulse,” and he attempted to feel my left wrist. “I am not lightheaded,” said I, “and I require no one to feel my pulse; but I should be lightheaded if I were to sell my horse for less than I have demanded; but I have a curiosity to know what you would be willing to offer.” “Thirty pounds,” said the surgeon, “is all I can afford to give; and that is a great deal for a country surgeon to offer for a horse.” “Thirty pounds!” said I, “why, he cost me nearly double that sum. To tell you the truth, I am afraid you want to take advantage of my situation.” “Not in the least, friend,” said the surgeon, “not in the least; I only wished to set your mind at rest about your horse; but as you think he is worth more than I can afford to offer, take him to Horncastle by all means; I will do my best to cure you in time. Good night, I will see